Into The Flames (Firehouse Fourteen Book 4) Read Online Free
Author: Lisa B. Kamps
and emotion, raw and blinding, had guided her hand.
Melanie tilted her head to the other side, still hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was Anna saw. No matter how hard she looked, even if she squinted her eyes and scrunched her face, she couldn't see it. So what did that mean? If Melanie thought this particular work was awful but Anna loved it, what did that say about the works that Melanie loved but Anna only liked?
The breath hitched in her chest, cold and painful. Oh sweets, no. She was a fraud. That had to be it. If she didn't even like what Anna loved, that must mean she was a fraud. A fake. A failure.
"You must stop at once," Anna demanded, her voice cool and direct. She squeezed Melanie's hand then stood, her posture erect and regal as she stared down at Melanie. A determined expression ruled her smooth thin face, demanding that she obey immediately.
Melanie blinked, not even trying to hide her confusion. "Stop what?"
"Questioning yourself. Doubting yourself. Don't lie and tell me you're not, I can see it in those eyes of yours." She leaned down and grabbed Melanie's hand, urging her to her feet. "Now come. We'll drink some champagne and toast your latest works, and the money they will bring in. All of them."
Melanie didn't have any choice but to follow so she did, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the paintings leaning against the exposed brick wall. Anna tugged her hand once more, leading her into the back lounge area. She motioned to the sofa then moved to the glass-fronted refrigerator and pulled out one of the many bottles of champagne she kept there. Minutes later, Melanie was sitting next to Anna, toasting her new paintings and sipping champagne. She knew this was part of Anna's routine, a treasured repeating of actions and celebration. One Melanie had learned to dread, because this was usually when Anna asked about her inspiration for each painting.
And usually Melanie struggled with each answer. How could she answer, when she didn't know? The ideas just came to her, ethereal explosions of color in her mind that didn't completely take shape until she placed the brush to the canvas. They weren't conscious creations or ideas. They just were .
Her parents, each artists in their own right, completely understood. One or two of her friends mostly understood. Everyone else? No, not really. That included Anna. And how could Melanie explain something she didn't understand? Something she had merely accepted, like she accepted knowing how to breathe without thinking?
Except for this latest piece. Neanderthal Unearthed . No, that wasn't right. What had Anna called it?
Elemental .
Melanie wasn't sure she agreed with the name, but she knew exactly what had inspired her to paint it. No, not what. Who .
Him . Anger. Frustration. Irritation. He may have inspired it, but the emotions involved were all hers—including those unwelcome sparks of excitement and attraction and curiosity. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.
Melanie pushed the thoughts away and took a sip of the champagne, the bubbly liquid cold and sweet against her tongue. She looked over at Anna, studying her, wishing she could be more like her.
Anna wasn't ruled by her emotions. Anna didn't shy away from challenges. She was determined and sophisticated and savvy. Independent and controlled. She even looked the part, dressed in a chic feminine business suit that flattered her long legs and lean build. Melanie couldn't even guess how much the designer suit cost. Probably more than she could afford to spend—more than what she would even think about spending. Not that she really thought much about her wardrobe anyway.
Maybe she should reconsider. Anna always looked so put-together, so stylish and young even though she was in her late forties, at least twenty years older than Melanie's own twenty-six. But next to Anna, Melanie looked…frumpy. Scatterbrained. Frazzled.
And oh, for sweet's sake, why was she suddenly so worried
Melanie tilted her head to the other side, still hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it was Anna saw. No matter how hard she looked, even if she squinted her eyes and scrunched her face, she couldn't see it. So what did that mean? If Melanie thought this particular work was awful but Anna loved it, what did that say about the works that Melanie loved but Anna only liked?
The breath hitched in her chest, cold and painful. Oh sweets, no. She was a fraud. That had to be it. If she didn't even like what Anna loved, that must mean she was a fraud. A fake. A failure.
"You must stop at once," Anna demanded, her voice cool and direct. She squeezed Melanie's hand then stood, her posture erect and regal as she stared down at Melanie. A determined expression ruled her smooth thin face, demanding that she obey immediately.
Melanie blinked, not even trying to hide her confusion. "Stop what?"
"Questioning yourself. Doubting yourself. Don't lie and tell me you're not, I can see it in those eyes of yours." She leaned down and grabbed Melanie's hand, urging her to her feet. "Now come. We'll drink some champagne and toast your latest works, and the money they will bring in. All of them."
Melanie didn't have any choice but to follow so she did, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the paintings leaning against the exposed brick wall. Anna tugged her hand once more, leading her into the back lounge area. She motioned to the sofa then moved to the glass-fronted refrigerator and pulled out one of the many bottles of champagne she kept there. Minutes later, Melanie was sitting next to Anna, toasting her new paintings and sipping champagne. She knew this was part of Anna's routine, a treasured repeating of actions and celebration. One Melanie had learned to dread, because this was usually when Anna asked about her inspiration for each painting.
And usually Melanie struggled with each answer. How could she answer, when she didn't know? The ideas just came to her, ethereal explosions of color in her mind that didn't completely take shape until she placed the brush to the canvas. They weren't conscious creations or ideas. They just were .
Her parents, each artists in their own right, completely understood. One or two of her friends mostly understood. Everyone else? No, not really. That included Anna. And how could Melanie explain something she didn't understand? Something she had merely accepted, like she accepted knowing how to breathe without thinking?
Except for this latest piece. Neanderthal Unearthed . No, that wasn't right. What had Anna called it?
Elemental .
Melanie wasn't sure she agreed with the name, but she knew exactly what had inspired her to paint it. No, not what. Who .
Him . Anger. Frustration. Irritation. He may have inspired it, but the emotions involved were all hers—including those unwelcome sparks of excitement and attraction and curiosity. It didn't make sense. None of it made sense.
Melanie pushed the thoughts away and took a sip of the champagne, the bubbly liquid cold and sweet against her tongue. She looked over at Anna, studying her, wishing she could be more like her.
Anna wasn't ruled by her emotions. Anna didn't shy away from challenges. She was determined and sophisticated and savvy. Independent and controlled. She even looked the part, dressed in a chic feminine business suit that flattered her long legs and lean build. Melanie couldn't even guess how much the designer suit cost. Probably more than she could afford to spend—more than what she would even think about spending. Not that she really thought much about her wardrobe anyway.
Maybe she should reconsider. Anna always looked so put-together, so stylish and young even though she was in her late forties, at least twenty years older than Melanie's own twenty-six. But next to Anna, Melanie looked…frumpy. Scatterbrained. Frazzled.
And oh, for sweet's sake, why was she suddenly so worried
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